The Killing Song: The Dragon Below, Book 3 by Don Bassingthwaite

Author:Don Bassingthwaite [Bassingthwaite, Don]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786956654
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

North put the trees between them and the majority of the horde, though none of the warriors were looking in their direction. Less than two fingerwidths of the sun remained above the horizon, and the attention of the frenzied horde was entirely on the druids who stood and shouted on the rim of the Sharvat Vvaraak.

Geth and Ekhaas ran hard and silent through the gathering gloom. The land rose into a ridge and they climbed it. Geth’s leg still ached a little, but Ekhaas’s songs had healed it enough that he could run without too much discomfort and had lent him a little extra speed as well. She herself wore magical boots that could have allowed her to run as fast as a horse, though she slowed just enough to let him keep pace with her.

They knew the exact moment when the sun set and night fell because the noise of the horde—almost a constant roar—vanished into silence. An instant later, individual voices rose into the star-flecked sky. The senior Gatekeepers were chanting, invoking the power of nature in unison. Geth paused and looked back.

Last night, he’d listened at a campfire as an old orc warrior with more scars than face had explained what would happen when the horde was ready to march. “The horde comes together, and all the warriors receive horde marks as a symbol that we’ve left our tribes behind and march as one. When the horde marches, we leave everything but our weapons in the camp as a symbol that Eberron provides all we need to sustain ourselves.” The warrior’s hideous face had looked around the circle of his audience. “But there’s one more symbol, a sign we make so that our enemies know we have already left our lives behind and are willing to die to defeat them—”

The voices of the druids cracked and broke, and a new chorus of hissing, crackling voices seemed to answer them. Flames burst up from the Sharvat Vvaraak, a dozen pillars that climbed into the sky then collapsed back down, filling the flat basin with fire and the night with new light. Shapes danced in the inferno—the shapes of fire elementals summoned by the druids. The camp upon the sacred Sharvat and everything that had been left in it burned, severing the ties of the warriors to the lives they had left.

A roar rose up from the horde that drowned out even the crackling voices of the elementals. Against the glare of the massive fire, Geth could see dark figures begin to swarm across the land. The horde of Angry Eyes was on the move.

“Khaavolaar,” said Ekhaas. “That’s a sight you only see once in a life. It’s like an entire town is burning.”

A growl rose into Geth’s throat. “When a town burns, it’s bigger,” he said. “Come on.” He turned away from the flames and moved on up the ridge, once again running away, once again reviled and hated because he hadn’t been able to hold himself back.

Except this time he ran with a purpose.

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